


An Accidentally Disproportionate Response

by pipisafoat



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Apocalypse, Gen, Nuclear Warfare, Nuclear Weapons, POV Character of Color, Pre-Apocalypse, implied anxiety disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4437188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the end of the world as we know it, and the West Wing is trying to cope. [Apocalyptothon 2015 request]</p><p>Charlie Young just wanted a job as a bike messenger. Instead, he finds himself helping the leader of the free world organize against imminent nuclear war. Starts in the middle of 1x03 (A Proportional Response) and goes immediately AU while using parts of future episodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Accidentally Disproportionate Response

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brutti_ma_buoni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brutti_ma_buoni/gifts).



> Beta by silverflight8, firesign10, and rainbowwizard1 (all of whom gave valuable feedback so I’m going to say it wasn’t overkill to ask all three of them onto the same project). Italicized dialog at beginning of fic directly from 1x03 (A Proportional Response) with some dialog and ideas pulled directly from that and other episodes.
> 
> See end notes for content notes/warnings.

_”When do we get the BDA?"_

_“There’s a problem with that, sir."_

_“Why?"_

_“Ordinarily we get help from inside the Syrian Intelligence."_

_“So what’s the problem?"_

_“We just blew up the Syrian Intelligence."_

_“Oh, for crying out loud, will somebody get on the phone to CNN and find out if we hit anything!”_

* * *

Charlie stifles a smile at the idea of CNN knowing more than the White House on what he can only assume is the military response to that plane going down a few days ago. Josh’s head shaking beside Charlie makes him reevaluate that idea as simply being humorous. Without foreign intelligence, maybe eyes on the ground like reporters really are the best source of information.

A stranger with a stressed look on his face rushes up to the President, handing him a report. Charlie wonders if the man is as important as the only three people in the crowded room he actually recognizes - Sam, Josh, and President Bartlet himself. 

“Thank you!” the president exclaims as he takes the report. “Now if I had my glasses…." 

“The porters have searched your bedroom from top to bottom,” replies an elderly lady from near the doorway. 

“This has been since this morning." The president looks like he’s going to continue on this subject, but the same stranger who handed him the paper interrupts.

“Mr. President, this report—" 

“I have twelve minutes before I’m live on the news. Twelve minutes to read this report, and that can’t happen until somebody finds my glasses!" the president shouts.

Ms. Craig - CJ, Charlie mentally corrects himself; he’s supposed to call everyone by their first names for some reason - enters the room and offers her glasses to the president. “Try mine, sir. I just got a copy of the report as well, and-" 

Bartlet rips the glasses off his face nearly as quickly as he’d put them on. “Aw, crap, I can’t see anything with those. And before you start, I got the briefing on the Phoenix, the A61, the Sparrow, and the Sidewinder all last night. I got the briefing from Hutchinson and studied the report in my private study. Now, tell me about _this_ report.” He thrusts the rejected glasses back into Ms. Cr— CJ’s hands along with his new report. 

“If he read the report in his private study last night and hasn’t found his glasses since then, do you think they might be in there?” Charlie murmurs quietly in Josh’s ear. 

“Good thinking. You tell him,” Josh replies. 

“How in the name of Christ did that happen?” The president snatches the report back from CJ and tries holding it at a distance to read it. 

“Charlie, tell him,” Josh repeats, a little louder, but he looks concerned at the expressions of shock on the faces of the people near the president. 

“Mr. President,” Charlie starts hesitantly, “you said you read the Phoenix report—" 

“Of course I did!" 

“In your private study last night, sir,” he continues, determined to get his idea out. If CJ and the others look that worried, he’s pretty sure the president needs his glasses immediately, shyness be damned. 

“What of it? Who is—never mind. Get Fitzwallace in here.” Someone else Charlie doesn’t recognize rushes out. 

The elderly lady catches Charlie’s eye and smiles. “Have a steward go to the president’s study,” she tells a younger lady standing near her. “Have him look for the president’s glasses under the papers on the coffee table." 

“Mr. President,” Josh interjects, but he’s swiftly interrupted. 

“Not now, Josh. In fact, everybody clear out of here. Everybody except Leo, Toby, CJ, and Mrs. Landingham. The rest of you go sequester yourselves in some room, and do _not_ talk to _anyone_ about what you may or may not have heard just now." 

“I’ll keep them in the outer office and wait for your glasses, Mr. President, so I can bring them straight back to you and keep any gossiping to a minimum,” the elderly lady replies. 

“Thank you,” the president replies shortly. “Ah, Admiral. Care to tell me what exactly went wrong with your brilliant Pericles One plan?" 

Charlie doesn’t get a chance to hear anything more as Josh shepherds him behind the rest of the crowd into the outer Oval Office, now crowded to the breaking point with everyone ousted from the main Oval Office. Mrs. Landingham glares Sam with ease out of what must be her chair and levels the same glare across the entire room. 

“In ten minutes, the president is going to be briefing the country on Pericles One. Right now, none of you know anything. After the briefing, you will know exactly what he told the American people and not one drop more. Understood?” Nods and mumbles of assent run through the room as a steward arrives, hands the woman a pair of glasses, and leaves immediately. “Josh, if one person steps out of this office, I expect you to rugby-tackle him and tie him to my chair. Sam, come with me. The president needs your talents, whether he realizes it or not.” 

In the brief moment when the Oval Office door reopens, Charlie could swear he hears someone say, “That’s not possible, sir. None of our planes were equipped with nuclear weapons.” He turns breathlessly to Josh, hoping he heard that wrong, but the older man pales dramatically. 

“Oh, fuck."

* * *

If Charlie had ever thought about what his first day as the personal aide to the President of the United States would be like (which, honestly, he never even knew the job existed, so he couldn’t have dreamed about it even if he’d been looking for more than just a messenger job), it would not have been anything like this. Paperwork, endless waiting, the weirdest non-interview by a salad-hating man who apparently was trying to subtly suss out Charlie’s sexual preferences, an interruption by a clearly irate coworker of the salad-hating man who actually recommended that Charlie sue the White House - _the White House, for God’s sake_ \- for asking that question, being yelled at for finding the president’s glasses, and finally being locked in a too-small room with too many people, all of whom were worrying about global nuclear war breaking out. 

“This isn’t a normal day around here, is it?” he asks Josh, who is sitting on the floor looking somewhere between helpless and terrified. 

“Well … no. That is to say, it hasn’t been so far, in my experience. But if what we think we overheard is true….” Josh trails off, staring into some unfathomable distance. “I mean, I’m no expert, but Syria isn’t supposed to have nuclear capabilities. And I know this president, and there’s no way he would have ordered a nuclear strike. So either Syria had nukes we didn’t know about and accidentally hit, or someone between the president and the pilots slipped a nuke on board instead of one of the planned missiles. Either way, it’s going to look like our fault.” He looks up at Charlie, his eyes taking a noticeable moment to focus. “You should know that this isn’t really my area, Charlie. I talk to congressmen and senators, make empty threats to get votes on bills, and nearly get fired for making stupid jokes on TV. That’s my area. Domestic. Safe. I mean, once I had to dodge a punch from a senator’s aide, and Donna tries to kill me by bringing me bran muffins instead of cookies, but that’s still pretty safe, right?" 

“You’re rambling,” Charlie interrupts. He decides not to point out that the rambling was getting higher pitched and starting to sound more than a little panicky. He nudges Josh’s shoulder with his knee to regain his attention, pleased when the older man looks up at him and finally makes eye contact. The connection seems to calm Josh as much as it does Charlie, and his pounding heart slows along with Josh’s breathing.

“Right. So this sort of thing isn’t something I know a lot about or have ever been given a briefing on or anything, but if the White House is getting blamed for a nuclear strike on Syria, secrecy and closed room broadcasts and the admiral in the Oval Office day and night might end up being the new normal. I don’t know. Maybe not." 

Charlie shakes his head, careful not to lose eye contact with Josh now that he’s got it. The man looks fairly calm on the outside, but his eyes show a continued frantic disbelief that Charlie hasn’t seen since the police chief saw fit to tell his little sister the details of their mother’s death. “I meant this many people shoved into a little room, actually." 

Josh’s eyes clear a tiny bit. “Ah. No. That’s definitely not normal, and there’s no way to make it normal and keep the building running." 

“That’s good. It’s starting to get a bit warm with all these bodies crammed in here." He keeps his voice light and calm, aware that their conversation was starting to attract attention.

Josh makes a vague hand gesture and looks at the floor. “Hot air rises.” He scoots over a little bit, and Charlie interprets that as an invitation to join him on the floor. It’s not really any cooler down there, but it gives his feet a nice rest, and as long as he keeps his knees tucked close to his chest, he’s not in anybody’s way. 

“So. If I decided not to take the job at this point, I’m guessing there’s some kind of law preventing me from saying anything about any of this." A quick glance around the room shows some people are still listening in, no doubt trying to figure out who Charlie is and see if Josh lets any news slip. He pastes on a smile to show them he’s (mostly) kidding before turning back to Josh.

“Actually, we’d just hold you here until you didn’t know any more than the general public, then send you home.” Josh manages a tiny smile. “Your little sister. High school, you said? She can feed herself and everything if you’re not home when you said you would be?" 

“Deena won't worry about not seeing me until morning. I’ve been out looking for jobs all day lately and sometimes working into the night, but I’m always up to see her off to school." 

“You’d make a good dad.” Josh glances over at Charlie again, and his eyes look a little calmer. “Better than me, at least, but I don’t think that’s really saying anything." 

The doors open at that point, and Ms. Cr— CJ stands in the open space, wrinkling her nose. “This place smells like a gym. I hope none of you were stupid enough to steal from Mrs. Landingham’s cookie jar." 

The comments gain her a strained laugh, but the fresh, cool air coming through the doorway around her seems to reenergize Josh. He stands, pulls Charlie to his feet, and faces CJ. “I’m guessing whatever news was going to go out is finally out?" 

“You could say that.” She surveys the crowded room for a second. “Alright, everybody, Roosevelt Room. Avoid any place the press might be, and keep your mouths shut unless you’re breathing. And try to do that quietly, too." 

There’s a short laugh, then someone opens the other door and the procession begins. Charlie hangs back with Josh - partly because he’s pretty sure nobody else even noticed the man starting to panic, partly because Josh is the only person he actually knows, and partly because he’s pretty sure CJ is going to tell Josh more than she would some kid who isn’t even officially employed yet. 

“What do we know?" Josh asks CJ in a low voice, surprising Charlie by not trying to turn away and exclude him from the conversation.

“Joshua, we’re going into a conference room to talk about this with everybody. I don’t really feel like saying it all twice just to satisfy your curiosity." 

“Yeah, but you’re not going to tell them everything." 

“Because I tell you everything. Just like you tell me everything, right? You and Sam?” She glares at Josh, and Charlie’s relieved to see that most of the anger is feigned. 

Josh sighs. “Alright, I deserved that. But still, CJ, come on. I’m the only one of the senior staff who was kept out of that meeting. There’s got to be something you can tell me that you won’t be telling everyone else." 

She shrugs and prods him in the shoulder to follow everyone else out the door. “There were two reasons to keep you out of that meeting. First, you know the absolute least about this sort of thing out of all of us - and I’m not saying that’s a bad thing—" 

“Yeah, I know.” He shares a quick glance with Charlie, the small smile actually reaching his eyes for the first time. 

“Good. And the second reason was that we needed a chain of command out here to keep this mob under control. You did notice Mrs. Landingham putting you in charge, right?" 

Charlie laughs out loud at that, and Josh glares at him. “You don’t think I can be in charge of people?" 

“I was just hoping to see you rugby-tackle someone on her orders." 

“She didn’t,” CJ says, eyes going wide. 

Josh grins, wide and bright. “I was under strict orders to rugby-tackle anyone who tried to escape and tie them to her chair." 

“Tie them with what?" 

Charlie laughs again. “There were plenty of neckties in that room. I’m sure we could have come up with something workable." 

CJ turns her full attention to him. “You’re the one who was being interviewed for Ted Miller’s old job." 

“Charlie Young.” He has to practically bite back the ma’am as he offers his hand, and she looks him over appraisingly before shaking. 

“You planning to take the job?" 

“Is the president planning to be civil with me in the future?” He raises a hand as Josh and CJ both start to protest. “I know; this was kind of a big-surprises kind of day, not exactly the best day to meet new people. If this … thing … turns into … a thing … well, let’s just say I’m happy to work here regardless of the situation, if my boss can generally be nice." 

Josh smiles again. “That’s a yes, then."

* * *

“He sounds _white_?” CJ asks, sounding completely outraged. “I think you meant to say that he had a very good English language education." 

“I was reading a direct quote, CJ, not making a racist comment. _I_ don’t sound white." 

“Oh really, Toby? You don’t sound white? What color are Jews, then?" 

Josh catches Charlie’s distinctly unimpressed expression, then gives a meaningful look to Sam, who interrupts the exchange to Charlie’s great relief. 

“This isn’t helping, guys. CJ, he’s right; a lot of comments on this video are saying that the guy filming sounds white. A lot more are saying he sounds American, which is unusual because most English teachers in Syria at this point are teaching British English. The point is, this video is not helping us, but it’s not hurting us, either." 

“Yet,” interjects Toby.

“Yet,” Sam agrees. “I propose we ignore the video. Don’t bring it up, and deflect any questions from the press by saying we have no evidence to say who was filming it or for what reasons." 

CJ actually hits the desk with a fist at that. “Even though it clearly depicts missile impact, implosion of the munitions dump, and then a clear secondary explosion of the nuclear variety, which would imply quite strongly that we didn’t drop a nuke! It was already sitting in the goddamn dump!" 

Charlie shakes his head. “I don’t think the story will play that way.”

“Why not?” Josh asks quickly, cutting in before anyone else. He nods encouragingly at Charlie to explain.

“At that point, he’s too busy swearing in at least three languages to hear any secondary missiles coming in, and the camera’s too shaky to see for sure." 

CJ glares. “Did you want a job with the President of the United States, or with Syria?" 

Charlie tries to backpedal from his strong words. “I’m just saying, that’s the kind of response you’ll get if you try to use this as evidence. Plus, you just said it _implied_ we didn’t drop the nuke, not that it proved it.”

“And of course, being our new media director gives you this kind of insight." 

He wants to explode at her sarcastic tone, tell her that he’s a guy who watches the news and has learned how opinions form from videos, especially once they’re shown on a partisan network, but he bites his tongue and looks at the floor. 

“Oh, hell. We’ve got to bring Mandy in,” Josh says, sounding a weird mix of depressed, angry, and excited. 

“Oh God, you’re right,” CJ agrees, dropping the brief argument with Charlie. “Call her. And tell security to let her up."

* * *

“We can’t let the Syria thing rule our lives,” Mandy argues a week later, and Toby sighs louder than Charlie’s ever heard a person sigh before in his life.

“’The Syria thing’, Mandy? ‘The Syria thing’? It wasn’t a ‘thing’. It wasn’t a couple college kids burning an American flag. It was a _nuclear explosion._ Do you get that?”

She huffs just as loudly as he’d sighed. “I get that, Toby, but I’m just saying, we can’t let it be the only thing on the table.”

The president raises a hand to stop her. “We’re not. We’re still passing bills and taking care of business. But we need to show the people that we’re still taking the nuclear threat seriously, and if that means cutting out some mostly-pointless publicity visits, that’s just what it means." 

“Not to mention the Secret Service pushing for extra safety protocols until we identify all the possible nuclear threats and neutralize them." 

“Yes, thank you, Toby. I do so love being reminded that I’m a top priority target for horrible weapons whenever I fly somewhere." The president rolls his eyes, but there’s the hint of a smile lurking on his lips.

Charlie smirks from his corner of the room. As he's gotten to know the president better over the past few days, he's come to really like the man. That sometimes-subtle, often-sarcastic sense of humor helps everybody get through the day.

“You can’t call this a pointless visit! It’s been scheduled for months! And it’s about the bill that’s going to fly through the House right after! I’m telling you, sir, it’s political suicide to cancel this trip." 

“Get off it, Mandy. Isn’t it a bit pointless to talk about gun control when we’re facing nuclear threats worldwide?" The president turns away from her in a clear show of the conversation being over, but Toby can’t seem to resist just one more comment before they’re dismissed from the Oval Office.

“And besides, better political suicide than nuclear suicide." 

“ _Thank_ you, Toby. If I’m ever feeling a little bit too alive one day, I’ll just come visit your office, shall I?" 

“Sorry, Mr. President." 

“You don’t have any nuclear weapons stashed under your desk, do you? Because I don’t want to feel all the way un-alive after a visit. Just a tiny bit." 

Charlie actually snorts at that one, and Toby’s look at him is pure amusement, poorly concealed by a front of anger. As usual. 

“Charlie, don’t you have anything better to do than laugh at my staff?" 

“Well, Mr. President, if you’d prefer, I could start laughing at you." He tries to hold a serious face, but it cracks almost immediately into a grin at his own joke. He’s pretty sure the president will appreciate it, and if not, well, there’s always the messenger job.

Mandy and Toby both stare at him open-mouthed for his cheek, but the president throws his head back and laughs loudly. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I ever need that, okay? In the meantime, see if you can help Mrs. Landingham with something. And sneak me a cookie." 

“Yes, sir. Although I’ll be forced to place all the blame for cookie theft at your feet if she catches me." 

The president waves a hand. “Of course, of course."

* * *

“Charlie?" 

“Yes, Mr. President?" 

The president sighs and rubs at his face. “Can we have a conversation - just one, right now while there’s nobody else in the room - where you don’t call me that? Where you call me, I don’t know … Mr. Bartlet would be good." 

“Is everything okay, sir?" 

The president moves his hand and stares almost incredulously at Charlie. “Do you think I’d ask you for a conversation as equals on a matter of national security if everything were okay?" 

Time seems to stop for Charlie. National security. The ongoing hunt for other nuclear weapons stashes. The secret meeting with the Joint Chiefs earlier in the day that Charlie isn’t even supposed to know about, even though he’s supposed to know where the president is every minute of every day. _They’ve found something, haven’t they?_

“No. Well, not really. But that’s not the point." 

Charlie doesn’t remember asking the last part out loud, but he can’t remember the president ever admitting to things not being okay before either, or asking to talk to Charlie as an equal. Not that he’s ever treated him poorly, but there’s a difference in rank between president and aide that just … isn’t equal, regardless of how nice the man actually is. Charlie makes a snap decision, picks up a chair, and carries it over to the desk. To the side of the desk, not in front of the desk, so when he sits down there’s not the huge status symbol of running an entire country between them. “What’s on your mind, Mr. Bartlet?" 

“Thanks, Charlie.” The older man takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “When we started this job, Leo and I met with the National Security Council, who … well, they gave us these stupid little cards with instructions on what to do in case of a nuclear attack. Like I can keep track of my glasses, much less a little card.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “But anyway, I’ve always got Secret Service agents with me, so I don’t really have to worry about it. The original plan was for Leo, me, and my entire family in residence to go to the bunker. I didn’t really think much of it at the time." 

“But now you are." 

“How could I not? We have nuclear threats from factions in Syria we didn’t know existed, much less with nuclear capability. Their allies are threatening us, but at least most of them don’t have nuclear weapons. The Syrians have sent small nukes to countries closer to them, and it’s devastating that side of the world already. I’m praying every night that they don’t have anything good enough to make it all the way over here, and that that’s why they’ve only attacked our allies so far. We’re doing everything we can to keep the peace here, but I don’t know how much longer it’ll work. In the meantime, I’ve known the people who work for me long enough that they’re like a family to me. How can I leave two thirds of my family behind if we know there’s a nuclear bomb heading towards us? They didn’t do anything to deserve it." 

Charlie only nods. He’s aware of the bombing near Syria and some of the threats to the United States, but somehow he’s never really connected it to the fact that he lives here, that he’ll get hit by the bomb or the radiation. That he might get lucky enough to be hustled along with the president into some protected bunker, but that means leaving his sister behind, and he’s not sure if he could do that. But the president’s right; these people are his family too, and he’s not sure he could leave them behind, either. 

“I’ve been talking to the NSC about it, and they agreed to extend the courtesy of the shelter to Josh as well. Just Josh." 

“Why him?” Charlie shakes his head. “I mean, I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve—" 

Mr. Pre- Bartlet interrupts bitterly. “They don’t feel the need for speech writers and press secretaries hiding in a bunker. In their infinite wisdom, they’ve decided that Josh, Leo, and I can restart this entire country by ourselves, should the need arise." 

Charlie stifles a borderline hysterical laugh. “You’d have to stay in the bunker for, what, ten years to let the radiation clear off? Depending on how hard they hit? No offense, but Leo would murder Josh within six months! Then it’s just the two older men coming back out, with no idea what’s been going on for a decade, trying to set up a government in a land that likely has either splintered or created a new government somewhere else." 

“There is that. But mostly, there’s all the family I’d be leaving behind." 

“What’s Josh say about it?" 

“He’s being told in the morning. I don’t know what to expect. Leo will be at my side if he can be, I know that. In fighting for more of us to be allowed shelter, and in dragging my sorry butt down there kicking and screaming even if it ends up just being the two of us." 

Charlie smiles sadly. “Best friend you could ask for." He doesn’t have anyone who would do any of that for him, much less all of it, but he doesn’t feel any jealousy. He’s glad he doesn’t have to run the country.

“Better." 

“How likely do you think it is that we’ll get hit?" 

The president shrugs. “The Joint Chiefs assure me they have satellites watching all known nuclear launch sites as well as the skies to detect and eliminate incoming bombs before they reach the ground." 

“Which, even if their system works perfectly and detects everything, doesn’t eliminate incoming radiation from an explosion close enough." 

“Exactly. So anything comes at us, and I’m off to the bunker whether I want to go or not. Anything comes at us, and I’m instantly cut off from knowing what’s happening, if my work family is okay. To say nothing of the parts of my actual family who don’t live in the White House." 

“Mr. President - and I’m calling you that to remind you that you have the power of the executive branch behind you, even if we’re having this conversation as equals - can’t you just order the NSC to allow more of your staff to come with you? For that matter, order more bunkers built for citizens?" 

Bartlet slumps. “I tried. They tell me food and water and air will be limited, and the chances of survival are greater with fewer people. And they tell me that announcing the building of more bunkers will just increase the fear the American people are dealing with and entice the Syrian rebels and their allies to bomb us before we’re ready." 

“So don’t announce them. Come up with a cover story. An economic recovery plan building, I don’t know, underground garages to provide jobs and reduce traffic problems in large cities? Bring in contractors to remodel the residence, only send them to the bunker to enlarge it instead?" 

“You know, Charlie, I hadn’t thought of any of that. I don’t know if it’ll work, but it’s something.” A knock at the door interrupts them, and Bartlet sends a meaningful glance at Charlie’s chair. “Just a moment!” He takes his time walking to the door, giving Charlie ample time to return the chair to its home before opening the door. “Ah, Admiral Fitzwallace. Come in. Charlie, if you’ll excuse us?" 

“Yes, Mr. B-President." 

He’s certain he sees a smile at his near slip. “I’ll meet you in the residence after this meeting to continue our discussion."

* * *

“There’s someone in your office, Josh!” Charlie hears Donna call, and he’s pretty sure Josh mutters something about cheese before walking through the door and shutting it behind him. 

“Good morning, and welc— Charlie?" 

He grins. “Good morning, Josh." 

“You’re not a total crackpot.” 

Charlie’s both amused and confused by Josh’s utter bafflement as he states what is, to Charlie, pretty obvious. They don’t tend to hire crackpots to be personal aides to the president. At least, he hopes they don’t. “Thanks?" 

“No, I mean, it’s Total Crackpot Day. Big Block of Cheese Day. I was expecting UFOs or a tax on Pokemon, not you." 

“We could talk about those things, if you like, but I’m actually here about the card in your wallet." 

He can see Josh’s complete reaction in the two seconds it takes for him to reply: shock that Charlie knows, fear that he’ll need the card, guilt for having the card, fear for those who don’t have the card, and the same fear Charlie’s been seeing in his eyes ever since that fateful moment in the outer Oval Office. “What card?" 

“Officially, I have no idea, got it?” After getting Josh’s slow nod, he continues. “Just like, officially, it’s only you, Mr. McGarry, and the president." 

“I’m sure Hoynes has one,” Josh puts in, still looking pretty surprised that this conversation is happening. 

Charlie shrugs. “Makes sense for the vice president to have different directions, though, what with the chain of command and all. My point is, unofficially, last night I sat beside Mr. Bartlet and we talked through our options." 

“ _Mr. Bartlet_?" 

Charlie actually grins at this. “He’s just like Mr. President, except he can talk to people like they’re his equals and confide in them. More importantly, he can ask for help that Mr. President can’t." 

“And what help are you here to give me?" 

“First of all, there is an unofficial plan in the works. It’s not solid yet, but basically if you need to use that card, you grab every person you can who you consider friend or family - hell, Josh, you grab your worst enemy, too - and you bring them with you. Second, we - by which I mean Mr. McGarry and the president, with me quietly facilitating the meetings in between everything else - are hammering at the NSC to give every member of senior staff, at minimum, one of those cards. Your part in this is to act normally today, but pull aside Sam and CJ somewhere out of the building and show them your card. Have them memorize it. Tell them what I told you about grabbing people on the way. And then the three of you have to continue to act naturally. If we can get the NSC on board, they have to act like they don’t know about the card when they get it. If we can’t get the NSC on board … well, we’re seriously considering hacking their system or issuing an executive order." 

“Those are terrible ideas. The last two, I mean. Hacking the NSC is so illegal, I don’t think even the president could get away with it, unless all evidence disappeared in a bombing, which makes hacking it pretty pointless to start with. And an executive order is too public for this. That’s basically telling the American people that we’re looking after our own best interests in the White House, and screw them." 

Charlie frowns. “I know. I mean, we all know. But it’s worst case, Josh. And it’s a long game. If we get hit by a nuclear bomb at 3 pm today, I want to see all the senior staff get to safety." 

“What about you?" 

He sighs and looks down. “I don’t know." 

“Your sister." 

“Yeah." 

They’re quiet for a long minute. Josh’s phone rings, but he ignores it. Eventually, he replies. “If you’ve come up with all of this already, I can’t imagine you don’t have some sort of plan for your sister." 

“If I’m with the president, the Secret Service is to bring me along with him, but if I ask him to, he’ll order them to let me go to my sister. If we get word early enough, he’ll have them bring her to me. Long-term, we’ve got plans in the works to build bunkers—" 

“Bad id—" 

“Secretly, so as not to terrify the American people. We don’t have all the details yet, but we have the skeleton of a solid plan. Mr. McGarry’s on board with it already.” 

“Less bad of an idea." 

Charlie grins outright. “I’m not stupid, remember?" 

“That was your idea?" 

“A lot of this was." 

“Your idea, that you told the President of the United States, during a conversation of equals. Between the _president_ and his _aide_." 

“That about sums it up, yeah." 

Josh shakes his head. “What happened to the shy kid I interviewed just a week or so ago?" 

Charlie sobers. “Something about being in the White House when we accidentally set off a nuclear explosion and started what we can only hope is the next Cold War for us, despite the havoc being wreaked on the other side of the world, has a way of making potential ideas feel more important than hesitancy to speak up.” 

“Good. I thought it’d take you a year or more to get comfortable with us. I’m not happy about the nuclear thing, of course, but—" 

“Sure.” Charlie stands, then hesitates. “Do you have any family in the area? Girlfriend, boyfriend, best friend, anyone likely not to be in this building when - if, I mean, if we get the call?" 

Josh glares at him. “First of all, you’ve met Mandy. I’m not sure any girlfriend of mine is worth bringing along, even if I had time for one. Secondly, that’s below the belt, even if I did basically ask you the same thing a week ago. And … no. My best friends are all just down the hall from me, working the same ridiculous hours that I do." 

“It’s just that we decided to let each member of senior staff have one person we send the secret service to get, given enough time. It was the only way to justify bringing my sister, and it’s the only way I feel okay about her, too." 

“Leo’s got a wife and a daughter. I could-“ Josh hesitates, looks at his door. “But Donna….." 

“Think on it,” Charlie advises. “Don’t decide now. But pass that on to Sam and CJ, too." 

“What about Toby?" 

“Mr. McGarry will be handling him." 

“Thank God. Oh, and Charlie? It’ll be Sam’s call girl friend, and for CJ, I’m going with Danny Concannon. If she doesn’t pick him, she won’t pick anybody, and I’m picking him on her behalf." 

“Playing Cupid during the apocalypse?" 

Josh pulls a face, and Charlie opens the door just in time for Donna and the rest of the staff in the hallway to hear, “I don’t look good in diapers, crisis or not." 

That’ll be the gossip of the day, and it’ll explain any weird vibes Josh gives off. Mission more than accomplished. At least they can face one more day of imminent nuclear attack with a smile on their faces.

**Author's Note:**

> No on-screen character deaths or major character deaths, but lots of death and destruction off-screen, fear of death, implied anxiety disorder in one character.
> 
> Also, Josh definitely ships CJ/Danny. Just saying.


End file.
